


Blood Rising

by SherlocksSister



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF John Watson, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Family Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Horndog, M/M, Married Sex, Masturbation, Mind Palace, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sickfic, Slash, Spanking, Top John, and a tiny bit of context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/pseuds/SherlocksSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson maybe a kind man but he is also a man of strength, heat and violence. Sometimes, Sherlock is lucky enough to see all sides.</p><p> Each chapter is a vignette of their life together, roughly in chronological order. A new chapter added October 2016. I thought this was finished but the John in my head was very insistent that there is more to tell.</p><p>"John was dumbstruck by the apology. Not really thinking about it, he pushed hard into Sherlock, forcing him up against the wall and pulled his head down sharply, kissing him angrily, teeth clashing and biting. He bit down on Sherlock’s lip and drew blood".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLuna/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Voyeur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506289) by [Madam_Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom). 



> DarkLuna admired the heat of John displayed in Madam_Fandom's story Voyeur and gave an articulate explanation of why John's sexuality needs to be more balanced with his characteristics of strength and dominance. I am guilty as charged in writing John as a highly sensitive lover so took on the challenge of writing him differently. DarkLuna, I hope you enjoy this, there is more to come as it turns out BAMF John is bloody good fun to write! As there will always be with my stories, Sherlock gives full consent.  
> I am [sherlockssister1](http://sherlockssister1.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - come and say Hi

The amber glow of the street light tinged the top of Sherlock’s curls as John sat above him, turning some of them auburn in contrast to the black of the rest. Sherlock’s eyes were screwed up tight, his head thrown back as a long, deep moan escaped his plump lips. John was intoxicated by the sight, the contrast of rose lips and plum glans against pale skin and every muscle and sinew visible as Sherlock strained underneath him.  John wanted to brand that pale skin with his teeth.

He pushed his dick imperceptibly deeper into the man beneath him, taking his time to enjoy every sensation and edging forward carefully. Never taking his eyes off Sherlock’s face he held his hands on the man’s hips, lifting his them higher as he got closer and closer to filling him. John’s fingers were clenching and flexing as he controlled the desire to dig into those hips and hold Sherlock tightly to him. Breathing deeply, he began to move back, increasing his pace steadily but carefully. Sherlock keened and gasped as he pulsed his own hand up and down his swollen dick in time to John’s movements. Speech had escaped both men at least five minutes before and John was deep in concentration, watching all the minute changes in Sherlock’s angular face, wary of signs of pain, distress of sensory overload.

Sherlock began to move his hand more quickly and John followed suit, matching his movements closely to Sherlock’s rhythm. The keening deepened to a growl and with his head bent so far back that John could see the blood pumping in the veins of his neck Sherlock came, shuddering and pushing himself back onto John. John took this as his cue and began to pump faster into Sherlock, his legs shaking and his arms clutching at Sherlock’s bent leg convulsively until he too, came.

Ten minutes later and they were curled around each other, John resting his head on Sherlock’s chest and stroking his arm. Sherlock bent to kiss him, almost missing his mouth in the dark and half landing on John’s nose instead.

“John, as wonderful as that was, I believe that you may have been holding something back from me”.

“No, nothing” John was bemused. In the four weeks since their relationship had become this, become more, they had shared what few details each they had not already known of one another, their childhoods, sexual history, fears, delights and dreams. John had plunged head first into it all, revealed things about himself that he had never shared with anyone before.

“Yes” countered Sherlock “You had your hands in fists, your movements were tense, controlled. Your breathing was deliberately deep and even. You never took your eyes off me, you were watching me”.

“You’re beautiful” John interrupted, “I love looking at you”.

“You had your held tilted to one side, listening and assessing”.

“How can you possibly know all that, you had your eyes closed and were definitely _distracted_ ” John grinned naughtily but then wiped his hand over his tired face. There was silence for a moment. Of course Sherlock could deduce him, even under such circumstances. He did it automatically, every sense filling his mind with facts. John sighed, you’d think he’d be used to by now.

“Yeah, alright. I suppose I was holding back a bit. I just wanted to make sure you were having a good time, you were alright. You know, safe and comfortable”

“John, my previous experiences are in the past. I am safe when I am with you. I know that. I trust you. I want you to enjoy this too. I want you to feel you can always be yourself with me. You can trust me too. Trust me to be what you need. Let me know you”.

“What I need changes Sherlock, like it does for all of us. You do give me what I need”

Sherlock stretched and shifted his weight. He was relaxed, sleepy and this had been a significant achievement for him, maintaining such a level of emotional discourse after such a magnificent orgasm. He patted John’s strong thigh and muttered “Just remember, I am not a china doll, John. You cannot break me” and fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You self-obsessed, insufferable prick! I _cannot_ believe that you just did that!” The door of 221 Baker Street slammed shut and the stairs to Flat B creaked as John made his way up.

“Have you no sense of decency, no respect and no fucking _loyalty_ , after all they have done for you, for us!”

Sherlock slinked into the room behind the incandescent John, trying to maintain his composure. He moved into the kitchen to make conciliatory tea only to feel John’s hand on his shoulder, spinning him back around.

“You had no right, Sherlock, do you understand? No right to announce Mycroft and Greg’s relationship like that. In front of all those dignitaries, in front of Greg’s superiors. In front of the _god damn fucking Prime Minister_!”

John was crowded up into Sherlock, his angry face only millimetres from the taller man’s, every muscle bunched and his fists clenched by his sides.

“Do calm down John. The Met has come a long way recently in its inclusiveness and as for the Government, most of them went to public school, so this is of little consequence to them”.

“That is not the point” spat John through gritted teeth “the point is, it was their news to tell, when and how they liked. Not. Yours” he stabbed a finger into Sherlock’s face “You have spoiled it for them and God knows, they have been through enough to get to this point. Don’t they deserve a bit of happiness?” He placed his two hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and with each word, pushed him forcefully towards the sitting room wall.

“And you, you jealous fuck, you spoiled it for them”

“Jealous!” Sherlock shouted back “Jealous of what? Of Mycroft being saddled with that inept excuse for a policeman. Or Lestrade getting my emotionally crippled brother?”

“Jealous that Mycroft has someone to love him back at last and someone else to think about other than you, you sanctimonious, patronising hypocrite”. Sherlock lowered his head suddenly, the truth of what John was saying hitting him with force. Of course John was right, he was jealous and had snatched that microphone and made the announcement out of spite. He was suddenly ashamed.

“You’re right John” he muttered quietly “I apologise. Unreservedly”

John was dumbstruck by the apology. Not really thinking about it, he pushed hard into Sherlock, forcing him up against the wall and pulled his head down sharply, kissing him angrily, teeth clashing and biting. He bit down on Sherlock’s lip and drew blood.

John ran his hands down the back of Sherlock’s legs and grabbed the backs of his thighs hard, pulling the _taller_ man down so he was level with John. Holding him up by his buttocks, John began to kiss harder, giving in to the adrenaline still charging through his veins. He squeezed the delectable buttocks and began to run his suddenly hard dick against Sherlock’s groin, grinding and pushing. Sherlock’s hands had been hanging by his sides but now he lifted them to John’s chest and in small movements pulled uselessly at John’s stripy jumper. John was more interested in the fact that Sherlock’s dick was also now rock hard and began undoing the leather belt of his trousers.

“John I..”

“Just Shut up Sherlock!” growled John “Just, for once on your life, shut up” but he looked Sherlock straight in the eye to check how the other man was doing. He was greeted by a half lidded look of lust making the green-blue eyes soft and unfocused. It made John’s blood rise.

Holding Sherlock up with one thigh, he rapidly undid Sherlock’s flies and yanked his trousers and underwear down, pushing the expensive fabric down to the floor with his other foot. He gripped Sherlock’s hard dick firmly and squeezed, making Sherlock groan. He moved his hand up and down rapidly, working Sherlock until pre come began to leak from his slit. Suddenly he moved away and Sherlock hit the floor in a debauched heap, his weeping dick ostentatiously displayed in his lap. John bent down and whispered “Will you do as you are told?” Sherlock gazed up and nodded vigorously.

“Well that will make a nice change” dripped John sarcastically and he pulled Sherlock to his feet. Pulling off the suit jacket, he looked at Sherlock for a moment, standing back and taking in the heaving chest, straining erection and lidded eyes. Leaning in, he grabbed the two sides of the dark blue silk shirt and yanked them apart, buttons flying in all directions and bit Sherlock’s nipples one at a time.

Taking him by the cock, John led Sherlock to the coffee table and bent him over it. He caressed the bare buttocks for a moment, following the caring movement with a resounding slap that caught both cheeks and balls. Sherlock gasped and then groaned deeply. Experimentally, John repeated the slap, this time making sure that his fingers grazed Sherlock’s anus too.

Rummaging in the desk drawer he found the bottle of lube he was looking for and undid his own jeans, and pushing them down just slightly, slicked up his own hot cock, grunting with pleasure. Pushing Sherlock firmly down towards the table to keep him in place, he unceremoniously pushed one finger into Sherlock, at the same time grasping his dick in a lube-slickened hand. Sherlock’s “ahhh” was soon replaced with a deeper, throatier “gnnng” as John introduced a second finger, delighting in the sight of Sherlock spread for him, almost naked while he himself was fully clothed.

Sherlock was holding onto the edge of the coffee table now, trying to push his dick in and out of John’s pumping hand. He threw his head back with a pleading “John!” and the blond man was behind him, shoving his dick inside Sherlock as far and fast as he could. Sherlock arched into John who gripped him by the hips tightly, digging his fingers in to hold him still as he fucked him hard and fast.

John’s orgasm came with a shout and a final thrust, Sherlock humming happily as John filled him with come. Sherlock had his own hand on his dick and was stroking furiously. John felt him contract and muscles push at him as Sherlock came all over the floor. John ran his hands lightly down Sherlock’s back and then wrapped his arms around his as he pulled out and they collapsed to the floor in a shaking heap.

“Sherlock I’m..” began John, but was shushed with a kiss. He didn’t try again.

~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy can be a terrible thing, and John knows its wrong but...
> 
> “I saw you with that woman. I saw you kiss her. What the hell do you think you are playing at Sherlock, hmm?” John leaned up and pulled open Sherlock’s shirt at the collar, biting and sucking hard at the delicate, soft flesh where the neck and shoulder met leaving a dark purple welt".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More vignettes than chapters, these are in a vague chronological order. There is another chapter coming tomorrow, my own favourite. Enjoy and please feel free to comment on this version of John

Sherlock moved gracefully through the crowd, stopping occasionally to greet someone or to respond to his name with a nod. The ballroom was huge, one wall made of floor to ceiling windows, the other three covered in gilt-framed paintings and mirrors dissecting and refracting the light from the crystal chandeliers.

The orchestra played a waltz and among the sea of people some were edging their way through to reach the dance floor. John stood back out of their way, taking champagne from the waitress as she passed him. He smoothed down his black waistcoat and continued his tracking of Sherlock.

They knew that the banker was here tonight, somewhere in the throng. Sherlock wanted to see him and observe his interactions to gauge if his suspicions that Sir Phillip was the head of a money laundering network were correct. Many of the heads of state requiring such services were here tonight, and Sherlock needed to know if Sir Phillip would make contact with any of them.

Sherlock, of course, was exquisite in his black tie and tails. John felt very out of place and uncomfortable, especially in the building heat, but Sherlock was his usual fluid, unruffled self. John glanced once more to his right, to see if the woman in the claret dress was still looking at Sherlock. She was sat at a table, next to a man in white tails and was watching Sherlock from under her eyelashes. Like John, she had been marking his progress across the room. As Sherlock veered off towards the windows, she stood, her dark hair falling in waves down her back, the tiara sparking and glittering as she leaned into her companion and spoke into his ear. With that, she began to follow Sherlock.

Unsure, John remained where he was for the time being, sticking to the plan just to watch Sherlock’s back and keep as invisible as possible. The woman had reached Sherlock and was placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to get his attention. As Sherlock turned around and looked down, his face lit up with a beam and he wrapped his arms around the woman, pulling her into a hug and even lifting her up off her feet slightly.

John was gobsmacked. He had never, ever seen Sherlock react in such a warm, open way to anyone, not even him. Something twisted inside his stomach.

As he continued to watch, Sherlock and the woman began an animated conversation. She was gesticulating wildly and threw her head back in laughter at something Sherlock said. He in turn was nodding furiously and smiling broadly. The woman leaned in and clasped Sherlock’s hand and, to John’s shock, Sherlock put his own hand gently to her cheek before he leaned over and gently kissed the other one.

John found his feet moving without realising what he was doing. Reaching the pair he took Sherlock’s hand possessively.

“Ah, John, this is..” but John cut him off, glaring at the woman “Nice to meet you. If you will excuse us, I need Sherlock for a moment. Just something I need to show him”. Pulling Sherlock firmly by the hand, John made for the glass exit door.

“What on earth are you doing? Is something wrong? Did Sir Phillip leave this way?” Sherlock exclaimed as John made his way down the palace hallway, pushing at doors until one gave and Sherlock found himself unceremoniously shoved into a shelved storeroom full of towels and cleaning equipment.

John pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over the tight shirt and up under the back of the jacket, pulling Sherlock close into him. John fumbled with his own trousers and took Sherlock’s hand and pushed it inside to his erect cock. Taken completely by surprise, Sherlock tried to withdraw his hand but John gripped the wrist hard.

“I saw you with that woman. I saw you kiss her. What the hell do you think you are playing at Sherlock, hmm?” John leaned up and pulled open Sherlock’s shirt at the collar, biting and sucking hard at the delicate, soft flesh where the neck and shoulder met leaving a dark purple welt. Sherlock gasped and gripped John’s dick hard.

“Suck it” demanded John and Sherlock fell to his knees, taking John completely in his mouth as John wrapped his hands in the black curls and slid himself in and out of the luscious warmth.

“You are mine. No one else gets to kiss you now. Certainly not some tart in a red ‘fuck –me’ dress, aghhhh” Sherlock was sucking harder now, sweeping his tongue across John’s slit and caressing his tight balls.

“Fuck Sherlock, that’s right, ahhh yes, you're sooo beautiful, they all want you, with their looks and little touches and they can't have you and I won't let them take you and  ahhhh” John came suddenly and Sherlock pulled back a little allowing the semen to drip down his chin and then sitting back on his heels, reached for a towel and cleaned his face.

John slumped back against the shelves as Sherlock stood. He was breathing hard and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, who leaned into him, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder.

“They do not want me John and I am most certainly yours, unequivocally and unendingly. Do you understand?”

John raised his head, recovering himself. “She wanted you and you flirted with her. You kissed her”.

“Yes, I did. I haven’t seen her in eight years, wasn’t even sure it was her. I was delighted to see her again, especially looking so well and happy. So would you have been if you had given me the chance to introduce you”.

“Well, who is she?”

“Laura. Laura Hudson. She is Mrs. Hudson’s daughter and I haven’t seen her since the three of us left America.”

John did up his trousers and squared his shoulders. He straightened Sherlock’s shirt and tie.

“I think we should go and apologise”.

“Yes” growled Sherlock “and find Sir Phillip”.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and passion. John Watson is brimming over with both.
> 
> "Sherlock felt John’s stare and turned to meet his eyes. For a long moment, they gazed at each other across the table until Sherlock winked at John. John threw his head back in laughter. Sherlock had probably only winked at him once, the day they had first met in Barts and John was sure Sherlock knew this too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for being a bit of a romantic and so this is my favourite chapter so far. I hope you like it too. As a special treat, below is a pic I found of how I imagine John looks at Sherlock across the table.

 

Finishing the last crumbs of Mrs. Hudson’s divine wedding cake, John sat back in his chair, replete. To his left Harry was deep in conversation with Molly and on his right was Sherlock’s vacated chair, his husband now sat opposite him, flicking at his phone and reading something to Lestrade. John hoped this wasn’t a sign of something to disrupt their impending ‘sex holiday’ as Sherlock so charmingly put it.

By now the dining table was littered with empty plates, glasses and napkins. The silver candelabras were lit and the evening was drawing in. Glad of a moment to himself in this whirlwind of a day, John looked around at the happy faces of their guests; at the end of the table Sherlock’s mother was having an animated discussion with Mike Stamford while next to her Sherlock’s father was laughing at something Major General Sandra Peake was saying. John was honoured at the woman’s attendance, hadn’t seen her since they had served together in Afghanistan. James Sholto and Mycroft were even having a chat, although God knows neither of them were good at small talk. Mycroft’s right hand was underneath the table, as was Lestrade’s left while he listened to Sherlock. John was in no doubt they were holding hands. Mrs. Hudson was busily discussing her cake recipe with Sally who was gamefully trying not to look bored.

John had felt a pang at the absence of his parents, but Harry had made up for it by walking with him up the aisle with Sherlock and Mycroft. As he glanced over, he saw there was still only water in her glass; “one day at a time, John” she had smiled as she straightened his tie earlier.

As John surveyed their family, he could not have been happier. Of course, the epicentre of this happiness was the beautiful man sat opposite him, face animated by whatever he was discussing, the candlelight emphasising the peaks and shadows of those extraordinary cheekbones and the extravagant lips. John had originally proposed they wear matching suits but Sherlock had dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Instead they had agreed to wear morning suits but each to choose their own colours. Sherlock had gone for a dark charcoal grey with, of course, a silk aubergine shirt and a matching dark purple rose in his buttonhole. John had known instantly that Sherlock had worn the shirt for him.

His husband. John repeated the words to himself again. He stared at Sherlock, watching the way his eloquent hands moved as he spoke and arrogant lift of his head to look down at his nose at Lestrade when contradicted. The carefully cut curls and the broadness of his shoulders and chest in that immaculately cut suit. John couldn’t quite believe this man could be his for forever. His.

Sherlock felt John’s stare and turned to meet his eyes. For a long moment, they gazed at each other across the table until Sherlock winked at John. John threw his head back in laughter. Sherlock had probably only winked at him once, the day they had first met in Barts and John was sure Sherlock knew this too. When he looked back he saw something burning in Sherlock’s eyes and suddenly he knew he had to have the man, right now. He lifted his eyes upwards and suddenly stood and made for the door, not caring what their guests might think. He climbed the hotel stairs two at a time to their suite.

A minute later, Sherlock followed him in the door and John clutched at him, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck then kissing him all over his face, lifting Sherlock’s hands to kiss his fingers. Sherlock responded just as fervently, holding John’s face and kissing him in a deep, hard kiss until both had to draw breath. Not bothering to remove any clothing, John pushed his hand inside Sherlock’s trousers and groaned to find his husband already fully hard. His husband. The words swirled themselves around his brain again and John could do nothing but drop to his knees, unzip the morning suit and take Sherlock into his mouth, wholly and completely, sucking as if his life depended on it.

Sherlock whimpered and his knees began to go. John suddenly stood and half lifted, half pushed Sherlock onto the bad, pressing him flat and resuming the sucking and licking he had begun.

Moving his tongue down, he drenched Sherlock’s balls and perineum in saliva, alternating between licking them and sucking the hard dick as deep as he could. Sherlock was pushing his hips up into John’s mouth, gripping at the bedsheets, the buttonhole lost. John moved down and rapidly removed Sherlock’s shoes and trousers. Lifting his legs wide, he sank his mouth down to Sherlock’s arse, nipping at the cheeks then sucking at the delicate inner thigh until he had left his mark.

Pushing the tip of his tongue into the beloved pucker. Building a slow rhythm, he pushed as deep as he could into the other man, eliciting sighs and grunts of pleasure.

Without warning he lifted his head and looked down at the man he loved so much. He wanted to consume him. Removing his own trousers he pulled Sherlock to the edge of the bed, holding his legs up and using his own pre-come as lubrication, slowly pushed inside him, tight up to the balls. He carefully leaned over Sherlock who gazed up at him and throatily John drawled “Mine”.

Sherlock threw his head back in silent supplication pushing back onto John’s dick and was rewarded by John holding him tightly under the thighs and fucking into him, hard and fast. He pushed one leg back towards Sherlock and leaned in to take his husband’s swollen leaking cock in his hand, pumping it in time to his own fucking. Sherlock growled and fought to keep his position, unable to move for fear of unseating John. He opened his eyes and fixed John with a heavy lidded look.

“Yours. Only ever. Yours”.

With that, Sherlock came all over his clothes and John lost all control at the sight, pumping hard and erratically until, with a shout, he came hard.

Slumping forward onto Sherlock’s belly, he pulled out, panting and sweating. Sherlock lowered his shaking legs and wrapped John in his arms and pulled him down to his chest, kissing his eyes lids and nose.

“I love you John”

“I love you too, Sherlock” John managed.

“John, what we going to tell our wedding guests?”

“Nothing, we’ll just front it out. They will know anyway” John smirked dirtily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo Credit (as far as I can work out) is MartinFreeman.tumblr via FanPop.com.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short story today. John and Sherlock simply haven't had the time for all this naughty business

“Shhhhhh”

“I know! I am not _stupid”._

“I know but, it took so long to get her down, I really don’t think I can face it again tonight”.

“Come here, John” Sherlock enveloped the exhausted John is his arms and the pair of them stood, swaying ever so slightly, both considering bursting into tears. Sherlock rallied first.

“Bed, both of us. Now” His command was a lot less forceful for having been whispered.

“But, the washing and there’s no milk in for the morning and ….” groaned John.

“It will wait until the morning. Bed”

The two exhausted fathers crept carefully past their eight week old daughter sleeping in her Moses basket in their bedroom and slinked into bed. John had been up all the previous night with Emilia and most of the day too as Sherlock had been working. It was Sherlock’s turn to do the night feed and John lay his head on the cool pillow gratefully. His exhausted mind whirred, travelling in six directions all at once. If he could just get four hours sleep straight be might just escape permanent brain damage.

~~~~~~~~~~

John awoke with the light shining on his face and sat up in a panic, realising it was the morning and he had slept for at least six glorious, uninterrupted hours. He anxiously looked into the Moses basket at the end of the bed only to see that Emilia was still sleeping soundly, her tiny fists lying on either side of her head, her breath escaping in delicate puffs. He felt wonderful, like he had slept for days.

Silently moving back under the covers, John also took a moment to admire the sleeping face of his glorious husband. The grey tinge to his skin had lifted, washed away by sleep. His long eyelashes fluttered and he was snoring slightly. Torn between the desire to touch him and let him carry on sleeping, John contented himself with just staring, mapping out every curve, line and sharp edge of that adored face.

Sherlock stirred slightly and his face crumpled into a frown as he forced his eyes open.

“She’s fine, I checked, still asleep. She slept through!” John whispered as quietly as possible. Sherlock opened his arms and John shifted over to relax his head on Sherlock’s chest and be encompassed by a hug. They lay together for few minutes, dozing and enjoying the sensation of lying side by side, feet, knees, thighs, chests touching, breathing in rhythm. John reached up to kiss Sherlock gently and rubbed his morning erection into Sherlock’s experimentally. It had been a while, sex had come at the end of a long line of things to do since they became parents and nothing killed libido like sleep deprivation.

Sherlock pushed back, the thin material of their pyjamas not really getting in the way too much. John slid his hands under Sherlock’s top, smoothing and stroking the strong muscled back, still warm from sleep. Sherlock in turn grabbed John’s bum and pulled him tightly closer to increase the pressure of their dicks rubbing together.

It was a small sigh and a shuffle in the Moses basket that brought their actions to a sudden halt. In unison, they lifted their heads from the pillows and listened, both holding their breath. Emilia merely turned her head and stayed asleep.

John badly needed to finish what they had started. He took Sherlock by the hand and pulled at him to get out of the bed. They snuck out of the bedroom, leaving the door just a fraction ajar and once in the safety of the living room. John lunged at Sherlock, kissing and stroking any part of him he could lay his hands on.

Unceremoniously, John dropped his and then Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms and pulled his husband to the sofa, lying him out flat and immediately covering him with his own body. John began the exquisite rubbing again, Sherlock holding him tightly and neither man letting a sound escape. They gazed into each other’s eyes as John pushed and rubbed into Sherlock’s taught belly.

The friction wasn’t quite enough though and John looked around frantically. Grabbing a convenient pot of Vaseline from the coffee table he slicked up his hand and then wrapped it around both their dicks and stroked and teased until he picked up speed. Eyes screwed shut with the effort of staying silent, the only sound the slap of skin on skin, Sherlock clung to him until with a silent scream and his head buried in John’s neck he came, quickly followed by John who jerked and pulsed through his orgasm.

They lay in each other’s arms, recovering their breath when the first whimper came from the bedroom, followed quickly by a shriller cry of hunger.

“I do believe it is my turn” smiled Sherlock, gently pushing his husband off him and standing. John remained sprawled on the sofa and Sherlock covered his naked arse with the closest thing to hand, a spare pink baby blanket, wiped his belly and hands with a baby wipe and went to collect their daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh don't ask me where they got Emilia, I don't know. I suspect I shall return to this story though at some time as I am rather taken with the notion of our boys and a tiny baby. Tomorrows story is longer, I promise, and has a bit of a twist.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well, Darkluna, ask and you shall receive. Even with John away, he can still dominate Sherlock

Stomping around the garden in circles, Sherlock paused occasionally to rub behind Redbeard’s ears. The circles were drawing in, tighter and tighter and Sherlock began to pull at his curls, yanking at them in big handfuls.

“Think, damn it, think! There has to be something here”.

Lost in the different timsescape of his Mind Palace, Sherlock had no idea how long he had been wandering the hallways, opening a door, and methodically exploring each room for clues before slamming it shut again and moving onto the next room. Only two doors now remained closed and Sherlock was resolute on not opening the Cocaine Room, as tempting as it may be, he had made John a promise and was bound by that promise.

Lestrade had called the previous day “Oh I’ve got one for you here alright Sherlock, a triple murder, two parents and a nanny. Their child is missing and we’ve got nothing”. Sherlock had glanced at John. They were all due to visit Harry and Molly in Canterbury and Emilia was bursting in excitement at seeing her Aunties.

“You have to help, Sherlock. Find the child. I’ll bring Emilia to Kent and if you need me, I’m sure the women won’t mind looking after her. Ring me”.

Twenty four hours later, though and Sherlock was making no progress. At the crime scene he had rapidly deduced that the nanny had been a plant, there to undercover sensitive information on the woman’s multi-million internet business. He had successfully identified the man who had claimed to be the nanny’s boyfriend and they had gone looking for him, sure he had the child. However, all leads had run cold and there was no sign of either the man or the child.

Looking down at Redbeard, he fought the rising panic. Sherlock needed to calm himself, collect his thoughts and focus. Climbing the four floors to the top landing, he opened the door of the only room there, John’s Room. He hadn’t bothered coming in here before as he knew there was nothing here that related to the case, this room was where he stored his memories of John, their relationship and their love. This was the room that illuminated the rest of the Mind Palace, John as ever, his conductor of light.

Sherlock threw himself down on the double bed in the room, as soft as lying on four duvets piled high and lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head. He turned to the right and watched the moving images playing out in their frames on the wall; his first time with John, their first fight when Sherlock had been convinced it was all over, chasing criminals, dancing together, their wedding day – and night. John flicked and smiled his way across the wall.

Just being here, surrounded by John’s things, scent and image was bringing Sherlock calm. He missed his husband, even though he had only been gone for a day. Sherlock lowered his hand to his pyjama bottoms, half-heartedly stroked himself through the cotton as he watched the John in the frames grin at him. Getting harder now, he slipped his hand inside, very slowly stroking himself from base to slit, ending each stroke with a feather light touch of his fingertips on his glans.

“Hmmm John” he murmured and John appeared, summoned by his name, naked and standing over Sherlock.

“Hello my darling, what’s going on here then? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m stuck John. I need your help. Help me John. Please” whined Sherlock. He pushed off his pyjama bottoms and spread his legs wide.

John stayed where he was and looked down as Sherlock, glaring.

“I really don’t think you should be wasting your time and mental energy like this. I am very cross with you Sherlock.” John had his hands on his hips, his tone stern.

Sherlock needed John to want him, to need him so badly John lost all control. He needed the reassurance that he wasn’t the failure he felt right now. He still remembered how it had felt when no one had ever wanted him and every time John looked at him with _that_ glint in his eye, unable to resist Sherlock, it made Sherlock feel loved, needed and safe.

Sherlock tore off his pyjama top and ran his hands over his chest, arching up to reveal as much of the ivory skin as he could. He dropped his hands to his nipples, hard with the breeze from the open window and groaned as he pinched them. One hand lay on his stomach and the other moved down, caressing his own balls but not touching his rock hard dick. He lifted his hips up slightly, bending his knees and ostentatiously flaunting himself at John, trying to tempt him.

“Look at the state of you, Sherlock. Look how needy you are. I remember a man who could barely allow himself to be touched and now here you are like this. It’s disgraceful and I am disappointed in you”.

At the harsh words Sherlock curled himself up into a ball “I’m s..sorry John. I know there’s work to be done, but I just can’t, I’ve tried and I..”

“I can’t listen to you whine any longer! Turn over“ barked John. Obediently, Sherlock moved onto his front.

“Up on your hands and knees” John had moved closer.

The first slap on his arse stung and Sherlock recoiled. It was rapidly followed by a soothing stroke from the same hand. The second slap was harder and burned slightly. The next slaps came in quick succession, some just on one cheek, some on both. Sherlock arched his back up, presenting his arse for more. He deserved this after all for failing everyone, would give John whatever he wanted. The next slap came hard, fingers making contact with his balls and Sherlock whimpered. John eased up, stroking his hand gently across the hot, red flesh and gently stroking Sherlock’s beautifully displayed anus with a single fingertip.

The next slap came lengthways and John’s fingers caught the base of Sherlock’s penis. He gasped and groaned and John, still stood next to him, held Sherlock’s cock firmly in his left hand as he ran his right over the now sensitive bottom.

“Would you like to come, Sherlock?” John muttered darkly in his ear

“Yes” Sherlock reconsidered “Yes, please John. If I may?”

“That is the good thing about having a genius for a husband. You learn quickly. Well done. I may now consider it” John gave him another hard slap, driving Sherlock’s dick through his hand. Each slap brought Sherlock closer, a mixture of divine relief combined with stinging pain. Sherlock didn’t know what to focus on and the two sensations intertwined.

He was close now, thrusting into John’s hand.

“Stop that, you will only come if, and when, I tell you”. Sherlock stilled himself, shaking slightly with the effort of keeping himself on his hands and knees.

Suddenly and without any preparation, John pushed one finger inside Sherlock, slowly moving up and up until he found the nub of his prostate and began to rub. Sherlock wailed and arched again but did not move away.

“John, oh John, oh please, please” he panted and John began to move his hand again on Sherlock’s dick. John leaned in and ordered “Come!”

Sherlock’s orgasm was vast and he felt it in his toes, his hair follicles and fingers. His brain whited out and he collapsed in a heap on the bed. As his breathing settled, his brain came back on line. He rolled over and looked up at the grinning John.

“Of course!” Sherlock sat bolt upright in the bed “not the boyfriend. The cleaner. I’ve been so stupid!”

Sherlock opened his eyes. It was pitch black in the flat. He must have been lying on the sofa for hours. He began to sit up to find his phone. It was only then that he realised his stomach and clothes were covered in come. He raised his eyebrows at himself. Spanking indeed, that was new. I must tell John about that.

He found the phone and called Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mind Palace in this story, and John's Room in particular are the same as I describe in greater detail in my story [**The Room of Light**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7033474)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are getting older but Sherlock is still getting into trouble and John is still getting him out of it.

Sherlock pulled his feet up so that he was lying flat on his back. His coat hang down from his shoulders like a cape or even like wings, he thought. He had often tried turning over onto his front but he had never managed it fully, although sometimes he rolled onto his left side and then back onto his right. He didn’t particularly mind though. He was comfortable enough like this and it reminded him of being on the sofa at home. Mostly, this place was just a blankness with swirls of colour; red, purple and yellow. He had often wondered what had happened to make him take so many drugs that he had trapped himself in this eternal floating chasm.

It wasn’t always blank though. Every now and again, Sherlock would see or, rather feel, an image float past him. Sometimes they were things he recognised from his Memory Palace but other times it was something new. Once he had seen Redbeard and rubbed his ears. That had been lovely. Another time he had seen a furled umbrella, which he had not enjoyed so much. Twice he had seen a beautiful girl’s face, but hadn’t recognised her.

*   *    *

It was the beeping that was doing John’s head in more than almost anything. Every one of these machines had their own beep and they all made that nasty tinny sound at least once a minute. Try as he would, he just couldn’t drown them out and the constant noise was gradually driving him mad. Of course, the one beep he did like was the heart rate monitor. That reassured him that, although everything else had gone to hell, Sherlock was, at the very least, still alive.

John laid his forehead down on the back of Sherlock’s hand, warm and soft. He spent hours each day holding and stroking that hand and had noticed that the callouses on the fingers were beginning to soften. Last week he had brought clippers in and trimmed the nails. One of the nurses had offered to do it but he preferred to do that small thing for Sherlock.

Glancing at the clock, he realised Emilia would be arriving in from school soon and then it would be time for Sherlock’s bed bath so he had better pull himself together. He was so tired. Maybe tonight he should go home and sleep. But what if….

“Hi Dad” Emilia burst into the room bringing life and joy with her. She threw down her school bag and moved to the other side of Sherlock’s hospital bed, leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Hi Papa” she chirped. She brushed the grey curls back off Sherlock’s forehead and picked up his hand from on top of the bed sheets. She kissed that too before falling back into a grey plastic chair.

“God, I’m sooo glad that day is over” she said to neither father in particular “I swear my maths teacher is getting more stupid by the day and lets not even mention the sub we had for French. He gave out 3 detentions in 10 minutes. Oh and Katy wants to know if it’s OK for her to call over with her Dad this evening and Auntie Clara said she is going to email me the pdf of that book she was telling me about”.

She grinned over the bed at John who was putting together the disparate elements of this stream of consciousness. She had her hand poised over her phone, waiting for a response to give Katy and at the same time was playing with her blonde ponytail, making it swish backwards and forwards as she twisted it.

“What time are Greg and Katy planning on visiting?”

“She said they would be here about five thirty, she was going to meet her Dad at work then come over. Is that alright?”

“Of course, text her there. Ask Greg to bring some tea bags”. After the first week, John had brought mugs and a kettle to the hospital room, because the hospital tea was going to kill him faster than anything else. “Got much homework love?”

“Yeah. Business, maths, English, history. Nothing hard though, I’ll have it done in about forty five minutes” She pulled the moveable hospital tray meant for patients to eat from, lowered it and started pulling out books. John watched, enjoying the normality of it all and, not for the first time, proud of their bright, motivated daughter. He turned and smiled at Sherlock’s face to share the moment but of course got no response.

*   *    *

The noise frightened Sherlock. It was the first noise he had heard in a while and although it only lasted a moment, it made him jump. He spent ages trying to work out what had made it. It seemed very familiar and he narrowed it down to being either a frog, a bell or a bird chirping. He flexed his fingers and wriggled his toes. It felt good so he decided to do it again. Breathing in deeply he also decided to see if he could wrinkle up his nose. He could! It was so exciting he did it again. Exhausted then, he went back to floating.

*  *  *

Greg and Katy arrived at 5.45 and had duly brought the tea bags. They all had a cup and while the two cousins chatted animatedly about school, eyeliner and YouTube vlogs, Greg and John went to get something to eat.

“Well, what did the doctors say today?” Greg asked his brother-in-law.

“Still no change. They are talking about maybe moving him to a different part of the hospital, a less high support unit”.

“That’s good isn’t it?”

“Not really. It means they think he is going to stay like this for a long time” John rubbed a hand over his face “maybe a very long time”.

“I think they underestimate the man. Haven’t a clue who they are dealing with”.

“Any progress in finding the driver?” Greg shook his head. Three weeks after Sherlock had been knocked down by a car that had come up onto the path and hit him at speed, straight on, causing Sherlock to smash his head on the kerb, all the leads had gone cold. There was no doubt it had been done deliberately but there had been nothing concrete to work on.

“Well, keep trying” was all John could find the energy to say. He threw his picked at sandwich in the bin and they went back to the girls.

In the room, Emilia was reading her set Shakespearean text aloud to her Papa:-

“And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,   
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,   
I am determined to prove a villain  
And hate the idle pleasures of these days”

 

She sighed slightly, screwing up her nose “Papa would be able to explain to me what on earth that’s supposed to mean” she said to the room in general.

“Keep reading it love. Put in some wrong bits, he might wake up just to correct you” John encouraged.

*   *    *

A bird, Sherlock decided the next time he heard it. This time, the noise lasted longer and was high pitched, rising and falling like music. There was a new sound too this time. A deeper, resonant sound that Sherlock really liked but it was muffled like he was under water. That thought made Sherlock panicky. Maybe he was underwater? Maybe he needed to breathe? He began to grasp for breath, nothing coming. Now he began to really worry and decided to try and get to the surface. He really wanted to hear that new sound again.

*    *   *

Greg brought Emilia and Katy home. John wanted a few minutes by himself with Sherlock and Mycroft would have her dropped back to the flat to him. He had decided he really did need to get some sleep, in a bed. Their bed.

The idea of it made John’s heart clench. He leaned over and stroked Sherlock’s alabaster face, the usual lines softened by the lack of consciousness. He touched his cheek to Sherlock’s cheek and kissed his forehead, each eyelid, end of his nose and each cheekbone before ending with a long kiss on the lips.

“Talk to him” the neurologist had urged “touch him, play music and bring him things he likes to smell. It can all help”.

John stroked his hand lightly down Sherlock’s forearm, feeling the beginnings of the muscle wastage in its thinness. Reaching up again, he brushed his fingertips slowly through Sherlock’s hair, front to back, pulling gently on a curl and letting it spring back. They were mostly grey now, having stayed black for considerably longer than John had thought reasonable. Even now, there were still a few black hairs here and there.

“Come back to me Sherlock. I’m not done with you yet, my darling. So many things still to do together. I miss you. I miss you in the kitchen filling the fridge with biohazards, I miss you shouting at the TV, I miss you playing the violin and I miss you sulking on the sofa. I miss you in our bed” John climbed up and perched on the edge of the narrow hospital bed, lying on his side. He wrapped one arm lightly around Sherlock’s waist and propped his head up on the other hand, getting as close to Sherlock’s ear as he could.

“I need you Sherlock. You know how I can get. I need to see you under me, spread out on the bed. Oh my beautiful, I need to see you with your hard dick in your hand, stroking it slowly while you gaze up at me, other hand thrown behind your head. You are such a tease when you’re like that Sherlock, all languid and pliable. I need to be able to lick you, lick you from the back of your ear, down, down past your nipples, down past your cock and lick that glorious arse of yours, fill you with my tongue until you squirm and pant. I need to lie on top of you, holding your hands above your head, still and dazed until I slowly, slowly press my cock into yours and move backwards and forwards, that delicious slide, while I bite and lick your neck, shoulders and collar bone”.

John hesitated. He wasn’t sure if this was ok, whether he was crossing a line. It was only talking after all, he decided, and he felt the need to try, to do anything that he could.

*  *  *

Sherlock was desperately trying to move upwards, towards the surface, to breath. The more he tried, the thicker the nothingness around him became, morphing from air, to water to treacle. It was exhausting. He was panting, recovering from his last effort when the rumbling noise came again, louder this time, closer. Sherlock listened intently trying to work out what the sound was. He surged up again, determined, and followed the sound.

*  *  *

“Oh Sherlock, my extraordinary love, I need to keep those arms pinned down again, to spread your knees with mine and lay between you. I love to just _look_ at you when you are like that, like I could do anything at all with you and you would let me. Do you know what I would most want to do, hmm?” John kissed Sherlock gently on the cheek “I would just ease myself onto your heavenly dick, slowly, slowly and then pull back up again and do it all over again. Time and time again until you _begged_ me to let you go all the way in. You do beg me, my sweet, don’t you?”

*   *    *

He was getting closer! He knew that sound. It was a voice, a familiar voice. Sherlock kept kicking up, reaching out. He became aware of more sounds now, beeping and the soft, comfortable nothingness was being replaced by a brightness, a harshness that made his eyes hurt. Something was urging him on, to keep trying though, even though his body was beginning to ache with the effort. He took another deep breath.

*  *  *

“Then when you had finally given in and begged, I would sink all the way down, take in every inch of you, wrap you up in myself and truly have you. I would move slowly at first and then speed up, brining you closer and closer, never taking my eyes off you as you arch up and press into me”.

*  *  *

Sherlock was shocked when he finally identified the noise. Couldn’t understand why he hadn’t always known. It was a voice, a man’s voice and it was talking to him, a voice saying it needed him. Its ok, Sherlock thought, I’m coming, just hold on, wait for me.

“John” Sherlock whispered, his voice cracked, throat sore.

John, thought he had imagined it, lost in his reverie, the images he had created.

“Sherlock?” He waited and watched Sherlock’s face for any signs of movement. Nothing. He buried his head into the nape of Sherlock’s neck. He had imagined it.

“John”

His head sprang up. This time Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered and just for a moment, he opened them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this last chapter was a bit different but hope you liked it. Thank you all so much for all your kind words and encouragement. I hope you have had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Special thanks to DarkLuna and Madam_Fandom. I'm off now to try and write something with absolutely no sex in it, whatsoever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is back home and John is treating him with kid gloves but Sherlock needs to remind them who they really are.

Reaching the last but one step, Sherlock was shaking, the sweat pouring down between his shoulder blades and temples. John stood to one side on the landing, knowing better than to make any offer of assistance. The final step resulted in a grimace of both pain and joy; he was home.

Six months after he had last whirled out of the door of 221b, four months after regaining consciousness, Sherlock was finally back where he belonged. There had been other possibilities, he hadn’t needed to force himself to climb these stairs, but each one had been a step closer to him getting back to his life.

“Emelia, love, put the kettle on please. Sherlock, I’m going to unpack your things.”

Emelia glanced at her Papa as he recovered in the doorway. If it was her, she’d want to go straight to her room, surround herself with her stuff. She wondered would Papa head for the chair or the sofa. She attempted a few surreptitious deductions and predicted the chair, knowing her father’s determination and stubbornness. She was right and two minutes later she handed him a cup of tea there.

Emelia Holmes-Watson was her father’s daughter. Consequently, she was sufficiently comfortable with showing her feelings, even for a teenager, to lean over and kiss her Papa’s forehead in relief that he was home at last. She also knew enough not to make a fuss over him or launch into an over sentimental speech.

“Papa, I need to get on with my English homework, I have a four page essay to write on the poems of Wilfred Owen. Will you give me a hand with my physics later?” She headed for the stairs, not really waiting for an answer.

“Of course,” Sherlock answered to her retreating back.

He looked around, seeing the unnecessary cleaning John had done that morning, the new blanket draped over the back of the sofa for when he, inevitably, got tired, the kitchen table freshly cleared and scrubbed and his microscope, left carefully on the counter just visible from where he sat.

It was an indescribable relief to be out of the hospital, away from the noise, routines imposed on you by others and the smell of disinfectant under laid by the sickness of other people. He revelled in the feel of his suit, still a little big for him, finally freed from the of exposure he had always felt in his hospital pyjamas.

John reappeared, standing on the kitchen doorway, just watching him. He thought this would never happen, Sherlock decided, he’s worried about how I am going to cope. These were far from deductions. This had been quietly discussed many times, laid side by side on the hospital bed in the ever present semi-twilight of the hospital room. John had tried to persuade Sherlock that they should move, find a cottage somewhere, or at least a flat with fewer stairs. Sherlock had vehemently disagreed. He was not ready yet to give up this life, move away from London. Mostly, he was determined that whoever had injured him would not win, not destroy Sherlock Holmes. He was equally determined to find out who had done it, or more to the point, who had ordered the attack.

“Will we get a take away to celebrate your homecoming or shall I cook?”

“I would very much appreciate it if you would cook, John. Something simple, pasta maybe?”

John nodded in agreement and began rooting around in cupboards and the fridge, settling on bolognaise. Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the noises of his husband cooking, the low thud of the baseline from whatever music Emelia was listening to and the eclectic sounds of his city outside the window.

They laughed over dinner and squabbled over the physics homework, Emelia determined she knew better than either father despite their respective science degrees. John looked at Sherlock pointedly, a nod of his head clearly indicating “That’s your doing, you know”. Sherlock changed into his pyjamas and dressing gown and took up residence on the sofa while the other two cleared up the kitchen, the disagreement easing into gentle banter. Emelia sat and held her Papa’s hand as they snuggled up under the new blanket to watch crap telly until she was packed off to bed by her Dad.

Sherlock was sat up waiting for John in their bed, reading and luxuriating in the width and softness of his own bed. John climbed in next to him, snuggling up along Sherlock’s long legs.

“God it’s good to have you back here with me where you belong.” John murmured into Sherlock’s shoulder, kissing his neck and cheek. He leaned over and turned off the bedside lamp and was settling himself in for sleep when Sherlock reached over a hand and stroked John’s back, tracing the lines of his shoulder blades, his spine and then down over the curve of his boxer-short covered backside.

Surprised, John rolled back to face Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock eased himself into a lying position and began kissing John, soft, easy kisses,

“Sherlock, it’s been a difficult day, you should try and sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep, John, I want you.”

“We have plenty of time for that love.” John suggested gently.

“You’re afraid of me.”

“Don’t be daft. I am wary of hurting you or you overdoing it though.”

“Please John, it’s been so very long. I miss you.”

“Sherlock, seriously, enough. You have just been released from hospital, you can barely walk from the door to you chair without getting exhausted.” John was adamant.

Sherlock wriggled under the bedclothes, removing his pyjama bottoms, sat up and pulled his t shirt off over his head. In the soft lamp light he looked the very same as he had ten years ago. He laid himself flat, arms and legs slightly spread, covers pushed back. His eyes took on a determined gleam.

“I need you to see me for the man I have always been,” Sherlock said quietly, not meeting John’s annoyed gaze, “I am still Sherlock Holmes, not some delicate flower. We have won this, John. I am home and in our bed and for the longest time we didn’t know if that would ever happen again. Don’t you see?”

John’s gaze dragged down the pale, narrow body supplicated before him. He reached out a hand and stroked Sherlock’s chest, trailed his fingers over his ribs and down his arms. He thought of what they had been though, the weeks of worry while Sherlock remained in a coma, the fear he would never wake up, then when he did, that he may never walk. John’s hands trailed down to Sherlock’s sharp hip bones and he remembered the fear he had felt and then it came, surging through his veins, the anger at what had been done to them all. He leaned down and bit gently at the long neck stretched out for him and pulled Sherlock’s face towards him, kissing fiercely, hungrily.

Sherlock responded immediately, wanting to show John he was still the man John loved, not some damaged, weakened version.

“John, I’m here, I’m alive. I didn’t leave you. You know I wouldn’t do that to you, never again. I came back to you. I’m yours. Always yours.”

Then John was all over him, kissing and biting and licking. Tasting every inch of this glorious, amazing man that was his, all his.  

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed between licks, working his way down Sherlock’s body, lapping and sucking, nipping inner thighs and balls. Sherlock groaned, opened his legs wider and thrust up into John’s mouth.

“You won’t. I trust you. You always know what I need.” Sherlock rumbled, his head thrown back.

In that moment, John understood. It was time to reclaim Sherlock. Reclaim him from the people who had done this to them, weakened them, tried to destroy them. His dick filled, and lust took over, replacing all his concerns. He took Sherlock in his mouth fully and sucked and licked until they were both hard. Sitting up, he pulled off his own pyjamas:

“Fuck yes, my beautiful boy. Always my beautiful boy. Show me Sherlock what you have for me. You know how much I’ve missed you.”

Sherlock keened his delight, spread his legs wider and dropped his right hand to his own dick, slowly stroking in long, deliberate movements. His left hand caressed his balls and he pulled his knees up slightly, offering John the best view possible. He opened his eyes, dark green with need and locked onto John’s face. John gazed down at the magnificent view, leaned over and kissed Sherlock. He whispered into his ear, low and demanding:

“I’m going to mark you, Sherlock. I’m going to brand you.”

He dipped his head to Sherlock’s left pectoral and licked, then sucked and finally bit hard, leaving a blood red mark right over Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock whined and his hand sped up, his hips bucking. John sat back on his knees and stroked his own aching cock. He watched Sherlock’s hand flying and matched his rhythm. Raising himself up on his knees, he towered over his lover,

“Come for me Sherlock. Come for me and let me see you. Show me.”

Sherlock fucked up into his hand and John reached down, pressing his own perineum, hips pumping. Then with a sharp cry Sherlock threw his head back and came hard, semen shooting over his hand and chest. The sight pushed John over the edge and he came, leaning forward and making sure his own come covered Sherlock’s chest, belly and neck.

John collapsed onto the bed next to Sherlock, half laughing. Sherlock was quivering slightly from his orgasm and the physical effort involved. John gathered him into his arms,

“You ok love?”

Still breathing heavily, Sherlock just about managed “Hmmm”. John watched him worriedly for a moment, the reality of the situation hitting him hard but Sherlock managed a sleepy smile, curled up in John’s arms and whispered, “Yours”.

John puffed out a sigh of relief, grabbed his discarded boxers and made an attempt at cleaning up Sherlock. He turned off the lamp and gathered Sherlock back into his arms who nuzzled into his chest and they drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this story was finished, but John kept tapping me on the shoulder and steadily getting more insistent, so here we are.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finally](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562611) by [Madam_Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom)




End file.
